Marta Perry - Where Secrets Sleep

“Gotta go. Dad’s expecting me, and I’m late.” He moved as he spoke, knowing if he didn’t, Ralph was capable of keeping him there talking and speculating all afternoon.

In a couple of minutes he was clear of the building, and he blew out a breath of exasperation. He felt sorry for Ralph, but the man’s timidity and gossipy nature about drove him crazy.

Dad, on the other hand, was so calm that Nick sometimes wondered if he caught all that was going on around him. When he reached the workshop he found his father already well into the next job they had on hand, humming tunelessly while he worked. He was what Nick would be in another thirty years, he supposed—lean, leathery, with tanned skin, wrinkles around his eyes, going a little gray at the temples.

Nick tossed his jacket in the general direction of the hook on the wall and joined him. The new cabinets were cherry, and the wood a challenge but a joy to work with. He smoothed his hand down the fine grain.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Dad shrugged. “No problem. Somebody come in the showroom?”

“Nothing like that. I had another little run-in with Allison Standish.”

“Was that a good idea?” His father’s voice was mild.

“I didn’t start it.” Nick wished the words back the minute they were out of his mouth. It sounded like what he and Mac used to say when they’d been squabbling. “Anyway, the woman is being unreasonable. She hasn’t even talked to the rest of the tenants in the building yet. Ralph is in a state about it.”

“Ralph’s always in a state.”

True enough. “I couldn’t blame him this time. Seems to me she’s trying to impose her big-city standards on Laurel Ridge, and that’s not how things are done here. The least she could do is to talk to everyone and let them know what’s happening instead of standing back looking down her nose at us.” He frowned down at the screwdriver in his hand and wondered what he’d picked it up for.

“Hmm.” Dad took a careful measurement, wrote it down and then measured again. Only then did he glance at Nick. “So, besides being obnoxious and superior, what’s Allison Standish like?”

He shrugged, for all the world as if he hadn’t paid attention. “Red hair. Well, more coppery-colored, I guess you’d say. Green eyes. Sort of a heart-shaped face and fair skin. She’s got a way of looking up at you that...” Never mind about his reactions. He certainly didn’t want to discuss them with his father. “Not much like her grandmother, that’s for sure.”

“You hardly noticed her, right?” Dad’s eyes were twinkling.

“It’s not like that,” he said with as much dignity as he could manage. “I’m just concerned about all of us. She could do a lot of damage through not understanding how small towns work.”

Dad didn’t respond. He just kept on working, but Nick felt sure there was something more. As the silence stretched, he had to speak.

“Well?”

Dad gave him a considering look before turning back to the piece of cherry work he was shaping. “Seems to me you might be jumping to some conclusions based on appearances.” He paused, probably to let that sink in. “The way I see it, the woman’s been thrown into a stressful situation she probably never expected. Maybe we have to give her a chance to find her balance.”

He didn’t say anything more. He didn’t have to. Nick knew exactly what Dad was hinting at. He thought Nick had an unfavorable opinion of Allison because she reminded him of Sheila.

His first impulse was to deny it. Loudly. But he had too much respect for his father’s judgment to reject it out of hand. Maybe there was a fragment of truth to the idea. He couldn’t deny that Allison seemed to be everything that Sheila had wanted to be.

He and Dad worked side by side in silence for a few more minutes. The feel of the cherry wood beneath his hands soothed him.

When he finally spoke, much of his irritation had disappeared. “Why do you suppose Evelyn left Blackburn House to a stranger?”

Dad shrugged. “That stranger is her granddaughter, you know.”

“The way I heard it, Evelyn never showed the least interest in Allison, so it doesn’t sound as if she cared whether she had a granddaughter or not.”

“Evelyn Standish was never one to show her feelings,” Dad commented, holding the piece he’d been working on up to the light. “I doubt anyone knew what she thought of her son’s child.”

“Not even Brenda?”

“Especially not Brenda.” Dad’s tone was dry.

“From what I’ve heard, Brenda expected her aunt to leave everything to her. I imagine she’s none too happy about this turn of events.”

Dad shrugged. “Allison’s her own blood. Her son’s child.”

“Hugh Standish, you mean.” Nick frowned, trying to remember what he’d heard about the man. “He had left town before I was old enough to know much of anything about him. From what I’ve heard, he wasn’t much missed.”

“Funny thing, that was.” Dad paused, staring absently at the window that looked toward Blackburn House. “Old Mr. Standish was the soul of honor. Evelyn, too. And Hugh was as twisty as they come, even as a child. Long on charm and short on character.”

“So he left.”

Dad nodded. “He left. Married, had a child, then left them, too. Seems he spent his life leaving people. I’d guess that’s why Evelyn bequeathed Blackburn House to Allison. Kind of making up for Hugh.”

The resentment Nick had been feeling toward Allison seeped slowly away. He still didn’t like her behavior. But maybe her family story was enough of a reason for him to give her a break.

* * *

ALLISON ENDED UP spending the afternoon in her grandmother’s office, becoming more and more engrossed in what she found there. The office itself was something of a surprise—stripped down, businesslike, with none of the frills one might expect from a wealthy woman.

Hector had his own opinion of the office. When she’d put him down, he’d prowled the room eagerly at first, intent on his search for any sign of his hereditary enemy, the mouse. Finally, disappointed, he’d leaped on top of the file cabinet. He established himself there, sphinx-style, his paws tucked in front of his white bib. The only sign of life was the occasional blink of his eyes.

Allison’s first task had been to get a grasp on the financial situation. Evelyn’s records were clear and organized, and it didn’t take long for Allison to discover that her supposition had been correct. Blackburn House was worth considerably more than her cousin was offering, even though the rents Evelyn had charged seemed ridiculously low.

Still, Allison had to admit that she had no idea what typical rents might be in a town like Laurel Ridge. Something else she ought to find out.

Once she had jotted down every detail she thought Leslie might need to give her an informed opinion on how to proceed, Allison leaned back in the leather swivel chair, considering.

Searching through the office had given her a guilty sensation. She didn’t belong here, but by her actions, Evelyn had grafted her on to the family tree.

Maybe that was an apt expression. She’d felt grafted on to another family tree when her mother had married Dennis Goldman. Dennis was a dear, of course, and he’d always done his best to treat her exactly as he did the two half brothers he and Mom had produced. She loved them all. She knew they loved her. Still, she’d always felt like the odd man out. The cuckoo in the nest, in a way.

Unfair, to feel that way, but she’d figured out a long time ago that a person couldn’t argue with her feelings. One just had to accept them and move on.

And speaking of feelings, what was she to think of the grandmother who’d appeared so suddenly, reaching out from the grave, it seemed? She’d formed an opinion of Evelyn Standish long ago—imperious, proud and strong-willed. Nothing she’d learned since she’d arrived in Laurel Ridge had changed that opinion.